To you, I am a shiny, alluring object.
Something you want to crush in a white-knuckled fist.
Clench in your teeth,
And throw away as you would discard a piece of trash.
You consider me a fool..
When you are the one whose mind cannot transcend matters of the flesh.
You are too stupid to care or realize that flesh rots,
And the pleasure of the body pales in comparison to the infinite pleasure of the soul.
My mind reaches through space and time,
And my fingers do not entwine with nothing but the hair of a lover.
They entwine with the fibers of consciousness.
With the threads of emotions too deep and complex for you to fathom.
You see in me what you want to see.
You see only what your small, arrogant mind is capable of seeing.
Which is a hollow space for you to thrust yourself into.
A mindless vessel.
A mass of skin and bone you want to dominate out of nothing but unwarranted malice,
And when you are met time and time again with the rejection you so deeply deserve -
You become a child.
A little boy trapped inside the body of what I am reluctant to call a “man”.
You are nothing more than an unfulfilled, ignorant monster who doesn’t know who the fuck he is.
And you never will..
Because you chase after a sense of physicality you neither understand nor deserve.
You chase after nothing but the collision of cells and fleeting sensations,
Yet you have the nerve to call yourself intelligent.
You have the audacity to tout around as some disillusioned philosopher,
When in actuality, you know nothing about life.
You think hate and apathy are a mark of how unique you are,
When all you’re truly saying is that your mind is equivalent to a sewer.
Some rank, disgusting place no woman would ever want to enter.
But your hatred for her is her fault isn’t it?
It’s her fault you failed to ever become a real person.
Your soul is silent.
While mine sings in languages you could never hope to learn.
My soul is the call of a barred owl, piercing the night.
It is the distant, abstract longing one feels when standing alone by the sea.
It is the eerie howl of wolves on nights too cold to breathe.
It is the nostalgic scent of lilac on a summer morning..
But more than any of that..
My soul is a black panther.
Ready to rake claws across the face of anything which seeks to maim or defile purity.
Your intentions are a source of constant amusement.
Because you may as well be made of glass.
I can peer into the nothingness of your being,
And the beacons of your selfish lust shine like bits of glass in sunlight.
Sharp enough to cut if they weren’t so absurdly visible.
Sharp enough to kill if they weren’t so easy to kick out of the way.
You’ll tell me everything you think I want to hear.
You’ll erase yourself and place a crude image of me in the vacant space,
Just so I can relate to you.
You’ll lie and you’ll lie and you’ll lie..
And in all your sickening narcissism you’ll believe you have sway over me.
You’ll believe your pathetic untruths will be able to corrupt my mind.
To will me into your filthy bed.
To force my indomitable spirit into a submission I never have, and never will, succumb to.
You believe these things, and in every conceivable way - you are wrong.
You will remain cold, bitter, and alone until the day you cease to draw breath.
Unless you find the strength of character it takes to change.
No one will remember anything about a man who sought only to please himself.
No one will mourn the death of a man who never became anything more than an abrasive, empty shell.
An empty shell filled only with hatred for what he deeply desired, yet could never comprehend.